


an instance of eternity

by mikapim



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Will, Episode: s02e12 Tome-wan, First Kiss, Fluffy but also they're murderers, M/M, Mizumono Fix-It, Pre-Murder Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikapim/pseuds/mikapim
Summary: After snapping Mason's neck, Hannibal and Will have a discussion about homemade dog food.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 243





	an instance of eternity

Hannibal has left Mason alive and, according to him after Will asked, with most of his cognitive functions if not much else. It certainly wasn’t the ‘plan’, as Will and Jack had created, but the ‘plan’ was such an ever evolving and nebulous concept anyway that Will doesn’t think this will even matter, in the long run. Most of the time, Will isn’t sure he’s even genuinely following the plan at all. 

At some point in the plan to entrap Hannibal, Will had noticed it becoming more and more difficult to reckon the man he is when he’s with Hannibal and the man he is when he’s with Jack, planning to trap Hannibal. When he is with Hannibal, he is with Hannibal completely, and it always gives him an odd sense of whiplash to remember, once Hannibal is no longer in his sight, that the plan to trap Hannibal is the _true_ plan, what he’s actually doing, what any sane person would actually be doing. Really, that running away with Hannibal in the night is something that he’s considering at all, much less on equal level with _not_ doing it, is a testament to how much it’s what Will actually wants- which is a painful realization.

But when Will thinks of Hannibal now, his first thought is not of pain. It is the heat of a fire, and a quiet tension, and the luxury of being understood. The pain follows soon after, and it is only because of that pain that Will is able to deny Hannibal at all. 

He knows on some level that denying Hannibal is the same as denying himself, and that almost makes it easier. Will has spent most of his life denying himself. It seems sometimes as if Hannibal is a great test, sent down from on high to tempt him.

“Are you going to take a trophy?” Will asks, mostly facetious, glancing at Mason. They’re going to have to deal with him somehow, but Will’s comfortable leaving that to Hannibal. They’re both supposed to be cleaning, de-torturifying Will’s living room, but Will is comfortable leaving that to Hannibal as well. Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind, having taken to scrubbing the floor without the complaints Will would have expected from him.

“I don’t think so,” Hannibal answers, though he gives Mason a once over. “I have done all I can for Mason’s therapy.” He sounds almost genuine. “It’s up to Margot, now.”

Anger flares up in Will’s gut at the mention of Margot the same way it does when Will is reminded of Abigail, or Beverly, or misdrawn clocks. For as easy it is to get lost in Hannibal, it is just as easy to be snapped out of it. 

There is a quiet pleasure to Hannibal at the moment, ruffled and bloodied and moving with intention. It isn’t his usual amusement, but something more intense, something that makes Will feel like he is being let in on something.

“Does it bother you that your dogs have eaten human flesh?” Hannibal asks, gently pushing one of the dogs to the side so that he can get to the blood staining the floor. The dog, Zoe, sniffs at Hannibal before settling elsewhere. Her white fur is splattered with Mason’s blood.

The question is so on the nose in regard to something that Will has not yet revealed to Hannibal that Will tenses up, drops the mop he’s been trifling around with, and turns to look at Hannibal to see if he had somehow unearthed Will’s secret. One of Will’s secrets.

“No,” Will says, near tentative.

The truth is, Will has recently changed his dogs’ diet. He’d started making them homemade dog food instead of giving them kibble shortly after he’d gotten out of the BSCHI, after some of them were having digestive issues. It was methodical and soothing for Will, and better for the dogs than anything store bought. Chicken, brown rice, eggs, milk, stock, carrots, green beans, rosemary. Then, one day, something other than chicken. It was just that- well, he had all that meat, from Randall. And after Freddie had been brought into the plan, it had just been sitting there, in the freezer in his shed. Will doesn’t have an easy answer for why he started doing it. It had been time to cook the dogs’ dinner. He considered going to the butcher, and then he didn’t.

(And maybe there was a twinge of something in Will’s gut as he watched Buster in particular eat the man who had hurt him. Will could appreciate poetic justice. Randall wanted to be an animal, after all. What do you do with animals?)

“I’ve been feeding my dogs Randall Tier.” It’s easy to say aloud, to Hannibal.

Hannibal, in response, looks the most shocked Will has ever seen him. He blinks, hesitates for three seconds, and then says, “Not Freddie Lounds?”

 _Shit_. Will’s answering hesitation is long enough that he can see the realization dawn on Hannibal’s face. One of the dogs whines; Will hopes Hannibal will leave them be after Will is dead.

“You have been a wicked boy, Will,” Hannibal says.

Despite the tension in the room, Will feels the urge to roll his eyes, a little, at that. 

“You’ve been trying to entrap me,” Hannibal continues. He’s standing to his full height, steady and almost lithe. Coiled tight like a spring. Will is closer to the door, but, well. He doesn’t have high hopes. Even if he could get to his gun, he isn’t sure he could get it pointed at Hannibal faster than Hannibal could snap his neck. (Some part of Will wonders if he could pull the trigger at all, even if he gets his hands on it.)

“I have found _myself_ caught in a trap of intention and desire,” Will says, unmoving. “Neither of which I am sure of my dedication to at any one moment. You desire to kill with me; Jack desires you be caught. I intend to kill with you; I intend to catch you.”

“You have no desire, then. You only act on other’s?”

“My desires are... tainted,” Will forces out.

“Randall Tier’s death was state-sanctioned.”

“Jack-sanctioned. I find myself uncertain about the rest of it.”

“You are racked with uncertainty,” Hannibal says, scathing. Will isn’t sure he has ever heard that tone directed at him before. Being the target of Hannibal’s anger in such a way is heady. “‘The rest of it’?”

“Jack covered for me, but I don’t think he anticipated the mutilation. And he doesn’t know about the meat.”

Hannibal- who, for just a moment, has had an expression of sadness, of loss- looks resolute. Will is trying to smother the bubble of fear in his gut; he doesn’t succeed. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, firm and near instructional, “I do not intend to kill you for your crimes. I intend to hurt you.”

Will can’t help but glance to where Mason sits, face destroyed and neck snapped but still breathing.

“It wouldn’t do for you to die without knowing what you’ve given up,” Hannibal continues.

Will finds himself unable to follow the conversation, but annoyed by it nonetheless. ‘Given up’ does not seem an accurate turn of phrase. ‘Refused to give in to’, maybe. ‘Resisted with everything he had’, perhaps.

“I’m not like you, Dr. Lecter,” Will says. “I’m not. I’m not able to judge myself apart from society.”

“You are able. You refuse to.”

“I’m not. I can only tolerate what you revel in.”

“Tolerance is a fig leaf to hide your ravenous self from the world,” Hannibal says, an underlying fierceness in his tone. Will finds himself struck by it. 

“This is personal, to you. So many... 'patients' through the years you’ve opened up to the opportunity of murder.” Will doesn’t say his next thought aloud, but the sentiment of it rings through the room. _Why am I so special?_

“Your cognitive dissonance astounds me,” Hannibal says. “You stand here, with the ruined body of a man in your living room and tell me you feed human meat to your dogs as their sustenance, while in the same breath telling me you are unable to live outside the rules of common morality. You ask me why this is personal to me, even as you have spent months knowing me more intimately than anyone else, confronting me in my home and then coming to my office and telling me you want to resume your therapy. You confound me. I have built a home for us, for when _you_ were prepared to come home to us, and you forsake me.”

 _Oh_ , Will thinks, once Hannibal’s finished, _he’s in love with me_.

 _Oh God_ , Will thinks next, _Abigail is alive._

 _‘Come home to us’_. It isn’t a slip up- Hannibal doesn’t misspeak- but it is a challenge. Will, up until that point having found himself rather acquiescent to whatever Hannibal intended to do to him (which, Will realizes, is a problem unto itself), suddenly feels an overwhelming urge to fight for what he wants. 

It isn’t just Abigail- Will would want this whether Abigail was alive or not, as proven by the fact that he had wanted it for months while believing Abigail was dead- nor does Abigail being alive suddenly absolve Hannibal of all, or even a small part, of his infractions. But Will is able to see it as Hannibal is presenting it- or would have presented it, if Will hadn’t messed it up- and it is… appealing, to say the least. 

Hannibal is offering him a gift. Hannibal is offering him a family. 

Will knows he has to tread carefully now. He intends to survive this night, and he intends to wake up tomorrow, preferably in a different country. Will isn’t naive enough to think any of it will be simple, but the decision itself, once presented so plainly to him, _is_ simple. He will go with Hannibal, or he will not. It is a choice akin to breathing air. The resistance required to not is too difficult to even justify considering. 

“I’ll need to feed my dogs,” Will says, though to be frank they’ve all probably eaten enough tonight, pardoning Winston. “You should leave a note for Alana- a voicemail, she won’t be awake right now.”

Hannibal’s expression doesn’t change- he’s favoring his right hand slightly, and Will can easily imagine a scalpel up his sleeve. 

“Where would we go?” Will asks, hoping he sounds on the endearing side of cloying, but knowing he probably just sounds taunting.

“I wanted to take you to Florence,” Hannibal answers easily, though he sounds almost put-out. “There were many things I would have liked to show you.”

“Tell me,” Will says, trying to make his expression open, even as apprehension takes him over. 'Wanted to take you, would have liked to show you'. _Past tense_. When Hannibal doesn’t immediately respond, Will continues, sheepishness only half false- “I’ve never been out of the country. I don’t even have a passport.”

“You do. Not in your name, but you do.” Will has gotten good at reading Hannibal the past few months, but not good enough to put a name to the emotions in his face at this moment. 

It is a risk the likes of which Will isn’t certain he’s taken in his life, even with the backdrop of his life being guns and serial killers and unadulterated violence, to step forward- three long paces until he’s in Hannibal’s space. More than close enough to stab, to slit, to mangle. Mason still sits a few feet away, an unconscious observer. 

Hannibal’s eyes are dark, and his breathing is shallow. He seems to stop breathing entirely, when Will takes a half-step closer and firmly presses their lips together. 

The kiss is as easy as the decision itself was, seeming like a natural denouement. Will isn’t even entirely sure what it means, beyond this, hasn’t had the time or ability to extrapolate what kissing Hannibal now will mean for the rest of his life. 

“I look at you, Will, and I see my eternity. My annihilation.” The words are murmured against Will’s mouth, though Hannibal’s tone is even. 

_Don’t you know I see the same when I look at you_ , Will thinks, frustrated, wants to scream it in Hannibal’s face- but instead he pulls back a little and meets Hannibal’s eyes. Will feels the same potent rush of power he had felt just hours earlier, when he had a knife to Hannibal’s throat. 

Will slowly, as if comforting a feral dog, takes Hannibal’s right wrist in his hands. The scalpel is in Hannibal’s hand now. Will gently pries his fingers off of it, one by one, very slowly. It falls to the ground with a barely discernible clink. 

“I don’t want to destroy this,” Will says, and can’t stop himself from kissing Hannibal again, quickly. Something about it makes him feel ringing all the way down to his toes. It’s very easy to kiss Hannibal- Will briefly wonders how that ease will extend to other parts of his new life. “Do you?”

Hannibal kisses him back then, something biting that makes Will’s entire body tense in response, nerves and desire entwined. Hannibal kisses him like he’s offended that Will would even deign to ask him if he wants to destroy this, which he had so meticulously created. _As if a scalpel isn’t lying on the ground_ , Will thinks. 

They kiss until Will is breathless and pulls away, though he does press their foreheads together as a substitute. Hannibal’s hands are warm where he touches Will, one hand on his face and one pressed against his waist. 

“Is this part of the entrapment too?” Hannibal asks. It’s obviously a joke- Hannibal is filled with a smug satisfaction that would annoy Will if he didn’t feel similarly. If he didn’t also feel Hannibal’s relief, underneath it all. 

“You know it’s not.” If Will looks to the side, he can see the spot where he murdered Randall Tier. It was starting to seem as if less of Will’s actions had been in support of the entrapment than he had been letting himself believe. 

“Take me home,” Will says. In Hannibal’s arms, with promises of Italy and of warmth and of family, it’s an easy decision to make.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is more or less a line from cyrano de bergerac
> 
> "tolerance is a fig leaf to hide your ravenous self from the world" in a line from the scripts that didnt make it into the show- hannibal says it to will in s3e7 after will tells hannibal he doesnt want to see him anymore
> 
> the working title of this was "the dog food is people"- yes my headcanon IS that will fed what was left of randall tier to his dogs. as far as i can tell, they only show will making homemade dog food AFTER he kills randall... listen, he has to do SOMETHING with all that meat in his freezer!


End file.
